Thick ash and the stench of rot clogged the hunter's nostrils. His heavy coat was drenched heavier with the blood of countless enemies. He was aware of the many eyes leering at him from afar; the demons were tracking his bloody bootprints through the snow. Ebony and Ivory clutched in his fists, he raised a hand to knuckle lank hair from his eyes.

Ahead, the castle was outlined sharply against the pearl sky. Its glacial turrets spired into the clouds with a dreamlike familiarity. He knew it to be the house of souls, an icy entrapment for the disembodied spirits marooned in limbo.

If the Dream Catcher had spoken true, Vergil would be there.

Dante was not a man given over to eerie premonitions, but he was on edge in this place. The atmosphere was rank with malcontent— whether from the demons or the bodiless palace inhabitants, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps both... or neither.

He halted before the massive portcullis. It did not magically spring wide to him as it had in the dream, and he regarded its stoic majesty before giving a wry smile. He slid Ebony and Ivory into their holsters and took a step back to survey the stronghold.

The glacial walls were roughly hewn, perhaps rough enough to scale. The hunter's calculating gaze slid higher to take in the upper ramparts. Several ornate windows were inset above the parapet, and he gave his gloves a grim tug before reaching out to run a hand over the ice.

He braced a boot against the frosted wall and heaved himself up, climbing the facade with expert grace. The savage wind whipped his hair across his face and tugged at his coat, the heavy fabric flapping about his body. He closed his eyes against the bitter sting and let his hands and feet feel their way skyward.

Dante leapt over the rampart and stooped for a moment to catch his breath. He had been journeying through the netherworld for over a week and his demonic blood had been alternately hissing, boiling, or sputtering. The palace of the dead drained him, and he felt his human essence writhing in his veins. Still huffing slightly, he moved toward the decorated windows.

Something was horribly wrong inside the castle.

He knew this instantly and implicitly as frosted panes of ice shattered beneath his boots. He felt shards tear his jacket in his hurry to slither through the broken window. The air inside the palace tasted brittle and stale, almost as though a sudden breath would fracture the ambiance. Dante slipped and almost lost his footing as he dropped from the ledge to the catwalk.

His heart battered his ribs as he placed a hand on the crystal balustrade and peered down into the great hall. At first glance, the scene below was exactly as the dream had depicted. Icicle chandeliers hung suspended over virgin white and lucent reflections danced across the floor... but as Dante's gaze traveled to the dais, he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

A small body lay draped over the narrow altar, limbs splayed awkwardly. Dark blood had pooled beneath the tiny figure and trickled down to form a congealed puddle on the floor. The child's face was turned away, but Dante could see strands of scarlet weaved through his silver hair.

The stricken hunter hurled himself from the catwalk and landed clumsily on the gallery floor, stumbling once before sprinting toward the altar. Biting back an anguished cry, he gathered the tiny, limp body into his arms.

Vergil's face was smeared with thick streaks of blood, his eyelashes crusted to his pale cheeks. His lips were tinged blue, but Dante could feel the faintest trace of breath flutter from between them. He whispered his brother's name and followed it with a low string of swears.

Fuck. He should have known.

Vergil's skin was even colder than the glacial altar, and Dante cradled his body as he cursed Remus.

He should have known...

His head snapped up as the echo of heels clicking on ice carried through the airy hall. Still clutching Vergil to his chest, he twisted to cast a hateful glare upon the intruder.

The hunter felt a stab of shock as the visitor approached, palms out in a suggestively welcoming gesture. The younger man gave him a tart smile and a piercing stare. His eyes were dark, and the cruelty in their depths caused an unbidden clenching in Dante's gut.

“You—!” The hunter spat the word with effort, utter confusion enveloping him. “But... Remus...” he whispered to himself in bewilderment.

Daemon laughed and the poisonous lilt caused Dante to cringe impulsively.

“Remus. Yes, how fortunate that he severely underestimated me.” The young demon halted several yards from the dais and regarded Dante pensively. “All those times... you never did appreciate the things I did for you, Dante,” he mused, his cold gaze drifting to Vergil's body, cradled protectively against the hunter's chest.

“Shut up,” Dante snarled. “I'll kill you...” He tenderly lowered his brother's childlike form back to the altar and poised a hand over the sword lashed to his back.

“Ungrateful to the last,” smiled Daemon, spreading his hands helplessly. “And here I went to all the trouble of bringing you yet another gift.” He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head to the side.

Reluctantly, Dante traced his gaze toward the alcove beneath one winding staircase. His knuckles whitened instinctively on Alastor's hilt as he blinked, barely comprehending the figure slumped there like a broken doll.

“V— Ver...gil?”

“Since you went through all that anguish to find your brother's soul, I figured you deserved to have the body as well,” said Daemon, his languid tone strangely businesslike. He gave a short, bitter laugh. “You even let Remus rape and almost kill you for that flower... you must truly love your brother beyond all measure.”

Leather holster straps snapped as Dante wrenched Alastor from his back and swung the blade over his shoulder. Electric energy crackled along the steel as he steadied the tip in Daemon's direction. It took him a concerted effort to keep the furious quiver from his voice when he spoke:

“You little bastard. How long have you had Vergil's body? Did Mundus award him to you?”

Daemon's lazy smile was pleased and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Brilliant insight,” he nodded, his tone patronizing. “Although... you should know nearly as well as I that my master has no need of your brother nor myself anymore. As it ends... we both failed.” He didn't take his eyes from the hunter's face as he edged slowly toward the alcove. “Nelo Angelo's body was a token I took when I left. To... remind myself of you, and what I owe to you.”

Dante's teeth ground audibly as he watched Daemon kneel by Vergil's lifeless form. The demon stroked the bloodless cheek and murmured, “I think your brother's body resisted death because of you. The demon blood keeps his corpse from spoiling, you know. I imagine yours will do the same.”

The hunter's laugh was a harsh bark. “You'll never see my dead body,” he growled, and he sprang from the dais and surged forward in a single liquid motion.

Daemon leapt easily aside as Alastor cleaved a wide furrow through the arctic tile floor. The indulgent smile had faded from his face to be replaced with a cruel sneer, his expression finally in agreement with his unnatural eyes. “You could thank me for once, Dante,” he snapped as curved talons tore from the flesh at his fingertips.

“You can have my thanks once I've plastered the floor with your guts,” Dante spat, whirling Alastor about his torso once before plunging forward again.

The reverberations of steel against diamond-hard claws made the hunter's ears ring. As the blade jumped in his grip, he was grimly reminded of this demon's unique strength. He had last seen Daemon several years before, and Dante's victory in their final battle had been a Pyrrhic one, heavily reliant on unconventional methods.

Increasing worry nagged at his senses as he felt the demon's talons skate his flesh, shredding the front of his jacket as he danced backwards. He tried to stifle his gnawing fear as he stared into Daemon's eyes, the dark irises intense and alight at the prospect of spilling blood.

“It seems the environment here isn't agreeable to your power,” the enemy chuckled as he struck out with serpentine grace. Dante brought Alastor to parry and staggered as Daemon raised a foot and landed a kick to his unguarded abdomen. He slipped on the ice and swore loudly as his back struck the floor. Daemon was upon him in an instant, insane delight written across his countenance.

“Normally the demon world would intensify the strength of Sparda's blood, as it did when you fought my master,” he said as he pressed a bony knee against Dante's throat. “But instead, it seems that the dead palace is weakening you.” The hunter's eyes were wide with pain and insuppressible dread as Daemon raised his hand, the curved claws reflecting beads of light across the bright ice.

Acute agony ravaged Dante's senses as Daemon plunged five razor-thin talons into his chest. He felt the tips strike the tile beneath his body, chipping it against his back as fire spread into his lungs. He didn't have enough breath to gasp and he stared mindlessly at the enemy perched happily on his midriff.

The distantly familiar sensation of drowning washed over him as the demon reveled in his affliction. Thick blood welled in his throat and spilled over his tongue. He coughed to expel it and Daemon looked almost euphoric as the copper tang perfumed the air. The claws embedded in his torso twisted and Dante felt them scrape against his ribs and shred delicate tissue. Slick blood warmed his chest and back as Daemon leaned forward and planted a rough kiss on his lips.

The hunter choked as the dry tongue pried past his teeth to explore his mouth. He bit the invader, and Daemon responded promptly by hooking three more claws through the flesh of his belly. His cry was lost beneath the demon's crushing lips and he tasted his own copper mingling with the pungent bitterness of Daemon's black blood.

Slowly, the demon drew back and tenderly licked his lips. He sliced his claws lower through Dante's shivering flesh, drawing anguished moans from the hunter's throat. Daemon sighed with pleasure as he murmured more to himself than to Dante: “And here I had almost forgotten... it's been years since I've tasted quality. Playing with lesser demons and dead halflings will never compare to this—”

“Sh— shut the... hell up,” Dante gasped, interrupting Daemon's soliloquy. “You... haven't changed at all... asshole.” He twisted his neck to spit blood on the ice. “You still talk... too fucking much.”

Daemon laughed softly and pulled his talons from the hunter's belly, wrenching shredded viscera with them. Dante screamed and writhed, stinging tears spilling over his cheeks.

“You don't want to talk anymore?” Daemon said, a cruel chill manifesting in his slow voice. “Then we can move on to other things.” With blood-whetted claws, he ripped a strip of material from the hunter's torn vest.

Dante's ragged gasps were muffled abruptly as the wad of thick fabric was shoved into his mouth. The demon deftly unthreaded Dante's belt from its loops. He raised it to strike the buckle across his face before wrapping it around his head, cinching the gag in place. Dante's body had practically gone numb with pain and indignity. The leather bit into his cheeks as he inhaled desperate breaths through his nose.

Daemon sat back and looked around, then he began to laugh. Dante's chest ached with hatred as the demon retracted his talons and seized him by the throat. Drawing the hunter into a sitting position, he smiled widely and indicated the altar with a bloody hand. When Dante only gave him a withering glare, he chuckled and roughly grabbed the hunter's jaw to turn his head.

On the dais at the end of the gallery, Vergil's childlike soul was stirring. A small, bloodstained hand gripped the edge of the altar and he turned his head slowly. Piercing blue-silver eyes fluttered open and stared widely from beneath the fringe of silky hair.

A mixture of relief and horrified shame flooded Dante as the brilliant eyes locked with his own. Daemon brought his mouth close to his ear and whispered, “Your brother gets to watch your final suffering and humiliation. And then he gets to watch you die, when he was so close to being resurrected. It's such a delightful pity, don't you think?”

Dante's furious growl was stifled by the material blocking his mouth. Twisting his shoulders fiercely, he managed to work his arms free, blood pouring from his chest and stomach at the sudden exertion. Through a suffocating haze, he tried to draw Ebony and Ivory from their holsters.

Daemon let out a low snarl as Dante managed to pull one gun and fire several rounds into his knee. Iron fingers curled around the hunter's wrists and Dante felt fine bones snap and splinter. He grunted through the gag as the handgun slid from his broken grip and clattered across the ice. Daemon pressed both of his wrists into one hand and ripped his own belt from his pants. He twisted the thick leather around Dante's arms, binding them tightly from elbow to palm. The hunter struggled against him, shifting his thighs against the demon's weight.

Daemon smiled and pressed his face into Dante's neck. The trapped halfling could feel his pulse racing as the demon's teeth grazed his flesh, a cool tongue snaking out to taste his sweat.

“You never appreciated the gracious courtesy I showed you those years ago,” Daemon murmured into his ear, his rotted breath causing Dante to grimace. “I was extremely kind then, but I want you to know that this time won't be the same...”

Dante's eyes widened as Daemon's voice grew hoarse, its languid lull cascading into a hiss. He was suddenly aware that the dry tongue curling over his throat had grown impossibly long, and he cringed in horror and tried to turn his head away.

Sharp fangs pierced his neck at once and he jerked as visceral pain stabbed into his veins and spread fire down his limbs. His throat constricted around a scream and grim numbness flooded his body.

Daemon rose above him and Dante watched a forked, reptilian tongue fold into his mouth. Iridescent scales were creeping back from the demon's brows to fade into his hair. His dark pupils had narrowed into slits, reddened irises broadening to swallow the whites of his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was a torpid hiss:

“I admit I've been waiting for this quite eagerly,” he breathed.

With growing panic, Dante felt Daemon shift his heavy body, scales sliding over his torn flesh. The demon lazily unclasped his pants and slid them down past his knees. Dante shivered helplessly as the ice chilled his bare skin. He felt a bitter flush color his cheeks and he tried to draw his legs up. With deliberate tenderness, Daemon placed taloned hands between his thighs and spread them, his reptilian eyes devouring the sight of taut, quivering flesh.

The devil hunter struggled desperately to summon any vestige of strength as the demon passed claws over his legs, drawing thin welts as he explored his prey's body. Dante was afraid, and his fear summoned a rush of adrenaline— enough to jerk a leg high enough to jab a steel-toed boot into the demon's lower back. His foot slid harmlessly against diamond scales, and he fought back a surge of futile panic.

Daemon didn't bat an eye before thrusting one razor-sharp talon into Dante's exposed hole. The hunter gave a strangled cry as delicate rings of muscle were lacerated, thick blood ribboning out to pool between his legs. He tried to curse, and chewed helplessly at the fabric blocking his mouth. Tears were running down his face and the demon bent to lick them away with a scaly tongue.

The curved talon inside him mercilessly sliced flesh into a bloody pulp. The agony was excruciatingly foreign and familiar at the same time and Dante's lungs threatened to cease functioning. His eyes were hazed and dewy and he could feel salt crusting his cheeks as he tried to draw his mind from the abusive intrusion.

Daemon's laughter was a languorous hiss as he pulled the claw from Dante's flesh, drawing a fresh torrent of blood with it. The hunter could hear smooth scales shifting against the ice as the demon moved to coil twin tails beneath his body. He let his head roll to the side, the chill of the tiles stinging his cheek. Mindlessly, he allowed his stare to drift toward the altar at the end of the gallery.

Vergil's childlike form was watching him, but his silvery eyes spoke years beyond his appearance. Dante felt acrid humiliation writhe in his chest as the piercing gaze bored into him. He blinked and squeezed his eyes closed, his jaw clenching around the gag, the leather belt drawing blood from the corners of his mouth.

Daemon slid scaled hands up his stomach and the edges of his claws caught the torn flesh there. Dante began to cough and he choked on the wad of fabric. His demon blood was languishing, Daemon's antidotal presence repressing his healing. His breath caught in his throat as the talons slashed at his nipples, easily slicing them open. He was vaguely aware that the demon was coiling one tail around his right thigh while the other worked its way higher.

If he hadn't been rendered mute, he would have screamed and cursed— perhaps even begged— when he felt the thick tail worm its way through rings of ruined flesh. It came to rest deep inside him, twisting slightly against his entrails. Dante's eyes rolled in his head and he welcomed a rush of blissful darkness. As his coherence slipped away, he heard the demon hiss his name and mutter a few barely comprehensible words:

“No, no... I don't think so.”

The tail was withdrawn and when it reentered, Dante's eyes snapped open, his spine arching off the floor. His body was clutching desperately at the thick coils, compulsively trying to expel them. Ruthless pain intensified with every spasm and contraction, but his muscles stubbornly disobeyed his commands to go limp. Groans and cries worked their way from his throat to smother behind the wadded fabric of the gag.

Daemon's forked tongue slid out to lash his ear as he pinned Dante's torso to the freezing tile. “You see now what your ingratitude earns you,” he hissed, his low voice heavy with arousal. “I wonder if you can take the other one...? Or if you'll fade away on me before I'm finished?”

Dante felt the appendage corkscrew inside him and his belly ached with violation. The other tail unwound from about his thigh and he cringed with dread as it snaked upwards. Choleric agony drowned him as the second coil twisted into his abused passage. He was being ripped impossibly wide and he could feel thick blood pooling beneath his groin, slicking the ice.

Daemon gathered the hunter's trembling body against his chest as the tails set a battering pace. Blood oiled the harsh strokes as they alternated in and out of Dante's violated hole, tearing with them bits of his consciousness. His body had finally gone limp and numb with shock, and he dangled brokenly in the demon's grasp. Lights swam across his vision as his cheek was pressed against Daemon's scaled throat. Dull panic staved off the relief of unconsciousness as the tails continued to rape his shuddering body.

The bright fire that scorched them was sudden and blinding.

The hunter felt every inch of his skin crawl with heat. Daemon released him immediately and his skull cracked painfully on the ice. His body heaved as the two tails suddenly withdrew; the demon emitted an enraged hiss and twisted to face the attacker. Craning his neck weakly, Dante stared over Daemon's shoulder at the enormous, black demon poised on the catwalk above.

Macabre armor hugged the monster's bulging muscles. Its head was that of a wolf, curved horns jutting from the crown of its skull. Oily black flesh rippled and twitched as the demon raised an arm to summon more fire.

Dante watched spiked wings burst from Daemon's back, broken scales scattering through the air. Sharp spines fanned from both tails as he completed his transformation and rose on his coils to face the demon above.

Dante's eyelids grew leaden as he fought to maintain consciousness. His body shook uncontrollably and he heard a piercing roar as the two higher demons faced each other. The hunter let his head fall back to the floor and felt exhausted tears trickle into his hair.

As unconsciousness swallowed him, his last coherent thought was one word, a name:

Remus...

And he knew nothing more.